


My Body Is A Cage

by jungle_ride



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Body Horror, Fear, Gen, Loss of Control, Psychological Horror, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungle_ride/pseuds/jungle_ride
Summary: The first time Morgana hadn’t noticed, hadn’t understood the significance. It isn’t till years later, when she looks back that she realises the consequences of the moment.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4
Collections: Multifandom Horror Exchange (2020)





	My Body Is A Cage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GriffinHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GriffinHeart/gifts).



> I wanted to explore the experience a younger Morgana had whilst experiencing the nightmares/ taking the medicine which suppressed them and in turn the magic inside of her. I find the whole concept of not being able to control your own body quite horrifying, so I'm hoping that it ticks some of your boxes as well.

The first time Morgana hadn’t noticed, hadn’t understood the significance. It isn’t till years later, when she looks back that she realises the consequences of the moment. She’d been a child, wide eyed and pure of heart. Back then her innocence had still been intact, interwoven with her naive belief that the men in her life would protect her, that a man’s word was a sacred bond never to be broken. Her father Gorlois, and he had been her father in every way a father ought to be, had been sent to war. He’d left her with a tight embrace and a vow he would return. 

In the months that passed Morgana had overheard snippets of conversations from the men at court who too often forgot the presence of a woman, especially one who had not yet come of age. They talked of how the war was going badly, that those with magic were mutilating and destroying the army and Gorlois had requested reinforcements to which Uther had yet to respond. Morgana hadn’t worried, she’d believed Uther would send the men, trusted he would keep his promises. Morgana had believed with all the innocent naivety of a child that her father would return and all would be well. She’d been a fool. 

The harsh and inevitable news had come, shattering her world into sharp and jagged pieces that embedded itself deep within her and tore her wide open, leaving her innocence in shreds. That’s when it had happened. It’d started with a hot flash of pain. A sharp stabbing pain in the back of her neck, right at the base of her skull. A wave of hot searing heat had then flooded her body, her brain seeming to swell till it was pushing against her skill, threatening to burst. Electricity zapped along each nerve ending, unlocking doors that were not meant to be open so soon, and throwing them open in such a violent fashion that her bones seemed to fracture under the strain. A buzzing noise swarmed her ears, drowning out all other noises. Her fingers had curled into small tight fists, nails digging into skin hard enough to draw blood as 

body shaking, chest heaving, her eyes began streaming with tears. 

Morgana hadn’t registered it too consumed by her grief as she stared helplessly down at the broken, blood stained shield of her lost father and fell to her knees. The Morgana she’d been had died in that moment. What would eventually arise, was someone mutated and deformed. Her trust had been broken that day. Her body had soon followed. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The nightmares had started only a few weeks later. Flashes of distorted images. Magic sparking in the air, swords piercing through flesh, children screaming as they were slain by men bearing the flag of Pendragon, a woman dressed in black, sneering as she twisted her hand in the air and the same soldier's bodies bent unnaturally backwards, their bones turning to dust. A voice piercing and clear calling to her,  _ pick your side little one.  _

The flashes of horrors had her screaming herself awake most nights, limbs thrashing out widely as she tried to escape the confinement of her body, to escape her own mind. The bed sheets would be wet to the touch, drenched in her own perspiration, slick and cold to the touch. Her tiny body shivered and shook, a raspy rattle in her chest, as the images lingered like smoke from a snuffed candle. Her shoulders would roll backwards, jerking in unnatural movements, as she fought against the scent of death and power that desperately tried to tug her back into its clutches. Head lulling, her lungs would draw breath in sharp, short intakes, her fingers twitching and pulsing as if searching for an outlet for the icy fire coursing relentlessly through her.  _ Let me out,  _ her blood would sing.  _ Don’t fight it.  _ Her mind would urge. 

The dreams that plagued her in the dark bleakness of night were not always confined to the shadows of midnight. Morgana would be sitting in the midday sun and still they would come, relentless in their pursuit of their prey. She would sense their arrival, the taste of ash would fill her mouth and the scent of smoke would invade her senses. 

A tingle would begin in the base of her spine and a cold icy grip would make its way from her ankles up into her chest. Like a spider weaving its web the sensation of cold dread would trail around her body slowly and smoothly, cocooning her into it’s trap tenderly. Morgana would try to fight it, clench her jaw, bite her lip till the tang of warm hot iron filled her mouth. Squeezing her eyes shut, she would cover them and press the heels of her palm into the sockets in a desperate attempt to shield herself from the images. She always,  _ always  _ lost to the demand of her body, helpless to control the hungry, restless need for a release Morgana had no understanding of how to give. 

Morgana spent every moment hiding from the creature lying in wait under her own skin. Her body was now a wolf in sheep's clothing. Her creamy skin a mask to the clawed and bloodthirsty beast that laid in wait. Her mind became a battlefield, a barren land filled with the graves of past, present and future. Her existence became one of solitary confinement, she’s been too afraid to be close to another just in case. It’s one thing to be scared of another, it was an entirely different and far more darker torment to be scared of yourself. 

Uther, comused in his own thoughtless nature, didn’t notice the change in his charge. He’d been far too concerned with his own fruitless attempts at producing an eire. Gauis however, had noticed. He’d seen the dark circles appearing under her eyes, the ghost-like paleness of her skin, the thinness of her body and it’s sharp jagged edges. His eyebrow had raised when he’d clocked the way she would twitch and shudder sporadically, fingernails tearing at the flesh of her inner wrist as she gripped them tightly, trying to hold them still. 

He’d been calm with her, listening to her describe in frantic, broken sentences the ailments she’d been enduring. When she’d finished, Morgana’s body had collapsed into a chair, limbs slumping forward in defeat, broken by a betrayal Morgana hadn’t realised she was about to commit. Gauis had laid a hand on her shoulder, told her grief was an unkind mistress. He’d prescribed her a draught, with a tenderness that seemed too sweet, as if compensating for a darkness hidden behind it. It wasn’t till she'd been older that she’d understood why her ears had burned at his voice. Realised the lies his tongue had spun. 

Back then though Morgana hadn’t thought to be wary of the mixture, the physician being a man she still trusted. Her body, always out of her control, had sensed the danger. It roared in retaliation, icy fire surging within her. Her heart pounded in irregular spasms that rattled inside her ribcage so hard Morgana felt sore for weeks. Her once soft delicate skin turned dry and rough, skin cracking no matter how much ointment she rubbed into it. 

Whenever her hand curled around the vile her cheeks would turn from their usual soft pink to an angry red, skin erupting in goosebumps as the hair on the back of the neck stood on ends. Throat constricting as the cool liquid slipped through her lips, Morgana was forced to cough and splutter as it made its way unwelcomed down her throat. When the liquid would finally reach her stomach it would clench and flip like a ship in a storm, causing her to fight with a violent nausea that left the taste of bile in her mouth for days at a time. The next morning a rash close to her heart would appear along her chest, red dots in a pattern of three circular swirls, connected in the middle, across skin tinged blue. 

Morgana persisted with the medicine only because despite the resistance her body put up, when she took it, the nightmares wouldn’t haunt her and she’d be granted a night's rest. Gaius had put her reaction to the medicine down to side effects and had spent the next few months researching a way to improve it before finally coming back to her with an adjusted mixture, one he promised would put an end to the torment. 

Morgana had taken it, beating her body into submission as it performed its most violent protest. When the fight was over, she’d been left with a blood stained pillow case from a nose bleed that hadn’t relented, an array of bruises on her skin left by an invisible assailant. A head splitting headache and eyes so sensitive to light she had to remain in bed for several days. 

However when she’d recovered, the nightmares were gone. In the days, weeks, months and years that followed. The spark inside her had transformed into one of joy and light. She’d found a new lease in life, free from the burdens previously forced upon her shoulders. She’d become a big sister, so to speak, and had enjoyed looking after and eventually teasing Arthur. Morgan had revelled in challenging Uther at every turn, fighting for justice where she could, but still remaining in his graces enough to receive the care of a princess. She’d been free, content, happy, and hopeful for a future which seemed bright and promising. 

Until the nightmares had returned. 

Until the beast had broken free from its shackles. 

Until Merlin. 


End file.
